The Light of the Sea
by The Benevolent Scriber
Summary: A young elven boy escapes Eregion during its fall in SA-1697. Taken in by the Dwarves he will be faced with many trials. In Khazad-dûm a great evil sleeps in the deep. In middle earth his people waste away against an unstoppable evil.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I do not Own Middle Earth or any of its components!**

 **The Light of the Sea**

 **Second Age. 1697 – Eregion**

This story begins much like many during the second age of middle earth. It began in fire and horror. The elven realm of Eregion was falling and death had made its home amongst its immortal denizens.

For a young boy, not even twenty summers old, it was the end of everything he had ever known. His people were dying and he didn't know why.

Many short evil things had come to his family's home. Father and his armies destroyed them all but more came, more than he could count. The creatures were so foul they made him sick to even look upon them. Muddied skin, fangs and twisted features made them a terrifying sight to behold. These creatures could only be orcs, abominations created by Morgoth.

In the night they had attacked. His father had left first to the walls. He did not return. The city fell quickly after that.

They were fleeing now. His mother carried him close to her chest. When she had snatched him up and began carrying him he was surprised. His mother had always been so tired and weak that she struggled to move some days. Now she moved like the wind was at her back.

He watched behind her shoulder as their home burned to the vile chants of those monsters, the black speech of a hundred thousand voices clawing at his young ears. Reaching up with his small hands he clasped them over his ears as tears spilled out from his eyes.

His mother was fleet of foot and soon crossed league after league leaving the sight of their burning home far behind. A glance across her shoulder showed two others from their household that the boy was familiar with. They were family retainers, skilled in both sword and bow, running alongside his mother in escort. They wore gleaming silver mail and belts that shimmered in the moonlight. Twelve they had numbered, now they were the only ones left, the rest had been slain guarding the rear as they fled.

Where would they go? He had never left home and did not know much of the world outside the city other than what he had learned in his studies. He was too young yet to go on adventures. Around them the forest began to thin as it gave way to bald rocks and more desolate lands. Towards the mountains?

The distant howl of some animal brought his young heart into his mouth. He felt his mother increase her pace, her breath coming more harshly in his ear. The two warriors shared a glance before slowing their pace and were soon out of sight.

The sound of growling and clashing steel filled the night air as they began fighting their pursuers. This wasn't like the tales at all. The bed time stories of Eärendil the Mariner were nothing like this. Even still a child his sight was great enough to see them die facing their enemies. They did not flinch but it was not a heroic death. It was quiet and unknown to all but his own far seeing eyes.

The creatures redoubled their pursuit. They were clearer to the boy now. Giant ugly wolves with demented riders laughing as they chased down their prey. Their bounding forms were fast, faster than his mother.

She dashed free of the forest and began charging up a rocky slope, her breath was coming fiercely now. The boy could feel his mother's strength slowly ebbing away. It was not a few minutes after they began climbing before the enemy emerged out of the darkened forest.

One slip and they fell, the jagged rocks battering his back. The young boy stared into his mother's silver eyes as they widened in horror. Her body curled over him but he could see what was coming. The image of a fanged maw closing around his mother's shoulder would stay with him forever.

The wolf monster ripped her away from him and flailed his screaming mother left and right. The boy could only stare in petrified horror as the creature viciously thrashed. The wolf finally lost grip of its prize as the arm violently came free with a spray of blood.

His mother tumbled three times before coming to a stop not a foot from the boy. He stared with frozen panic. She looked at him, her fair body utterly ruined beyond help, tears pouring from her eyes.

"R-Run! Run now!"

The scream was filled with desperate energy and fear. It was a spike of driven fear into his heart, like a searching hand he felt it squeeze his heart. He took to his feet and fled up the hill as fast as he was able.

He was small still and couldn't run very fast. Around him he heard the laughter and jeering of the evil things that had mortally wounded his mother. He hated them. Never before had he felt such a feeling. It was like a burning seething thing rearing from the depths of his soul.

He did not make it far before a strong blow sent him tumbling to the ground. Spinning onto his back he watched as they slowly closed in around him. The riders snarling faces filled with unnatural hate, their jagged teeth dripping with blood and slime. How could these thing be allowed to exist? Fear boiled up from his heart as he kicked away from the inevitable.

This was it? To be born only to die?

 **"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"**

The battle cry was fierce and full of seething wrath. It came from a dozen voices from behind the boy. Before him the fell riders twitched and turned to give flight, their gleeful looks turning to fear.

With wide eyes the boy watched as huge goats with heavily armoured riders bounded down the rocky scree slope. Their gleaming weapons different to that of his peoples'. Instead of curved elegant swords they wielded tall spears and thick axes. Their hard edged plate armour was a mix of copper colours and gleaming silver. The helmets they wore were terrifying, showing only their fierce eyes to their enemies.

In a clash of flesh meeting steel points the evil creatures were driven off with no casualties. Hundreds of more riders appeared passing the boy by as they galloped down the hill.

Before the boy even had a chance to stand a heavy hand gripped him by the scruff of his neck. Grabbing hold of the nearest thing in his panic he found himself gripping the horns of one of the goat mounts.

"Calm yourself lad! It's alright now!" The voice was gruff and weathered, not at all like the feathery tones of his own people.

Glancing up over his shoulder he saw a man? No, dwarf! His mother had told him of the small people. Great miners and craftsmen of the mountains. They were friends of his people. This dwarf was helmetless and his face was coated with an enormous red beard, it was unlike anything the boy had seen before.

Deep golden eyes regarded him, "What is you name boy?"

"C- Calaeron…my m-mother…!" The boy could only stutter his response as he struggle to regain himself.

As soon as the shock wore off he began to cry. His mother was dead, killed before his eyes, she was the one that had raised him. His father had always been busy in his workshops but his mother was the one everything had resolved around. He was saved only moments after his mother was slain. It wasn't fair!

"The she-elf is dead Lord Tulvar…" The voice came from near the bottom of the hill where a dwarf was kneeling by his mother. The boy could barely stand to look, his gorge rose and he vomited over past the flank of the mount. A few heavy pats nearly knocked him from the goat as the dwarf tried to comfort him. "My l-lord…It is Lady Nemiril!"

"…I see…gather her body, we will take her back. She deserves a proper burial." One armoured hand seized the reins of the mount while the other was clasped around the boy's middle. The dwarf stared off to the horizon, "Drali the battle is lost. We make for Khazad-dûm!"

The dwarf named Drali remounted and pulled a large horn from his satchel. The deep thrumming sound echoed across the hills and mountains twice.

"You come from an important line boy. Weep not for you mother for she has saved you where many have died!" The brisk tone of the dwarf was cutting but truthful in its own way. Many of his people had perished this night. He should be grateful to be alive but all the boy felt within was a pit of boiling hateful despair.

"Your father was friends with Durin III, my king. He could be persuaded to grant you safety within our great halls! Your people fight a great battle, they will have no time to protect a mere child now." The boy could only nod dumbly. Soon the craggy cliffs gave way to smooth edges and great walls made with fine precision stonework.

The walls were swarming with activity. Dwarven warriors tending weapons, armour and shifting supplies. Large stables for keep their mounts were also thrumming with action with mounted soldiers leaving and returning from patrol. It was so different from what the boy was used to that even in his grief he noticed.

Entering the stable Lord Tulvar quickly dismounted pulling the boy with him. His feet met the ground roughly.

"You can walk no?" Short nod followed by a slight sniffle ensued, "Good, now follow me."

It was a short walk before the pair were now facing a seemingly blank stretch of smoothed rock face.

 ** _"Mellon!"_**

Before the boy's eyes the featureless cliff split in two and large stone doors smoothly opened without any obvious mechanism. The boy squinted at the movement. He could feel something here, his father had a hand in its making. His touch was deep within. The feeling made a few more tears pour from his already red eyes.

"Welcome boy to the dwarven kingdom of Khazad-dûm…"

* * *

The halls of the dwarves were immense. They stretched off for miles at a time. Illuminated with great smokeless lamps hung from the cavernous ceilings causing the veins of precious metals and gems to glitter like the night sky.

The boy expected to feel closed in, claustrophobic, yet these halls felt warm, welcoming and safe. There were so many dwarves here, everywhere in this place. Some were mining, others were working on the stone craft of the walkways, trading with their fellows or simply playing games. Down below the carved walkways the boy could see the flash of hot steel and the wrath of molten gold.

The stone here felt different from Ost-in-Edhil where he had lived all his life. The stones there are been filled with the same feelings he had gotten from the west gate into Khazad-dûm. Inside was a different matter, this place had been inhabited for a long time, longer than any place he knew of from his studies. The stones could tell stories, the feelings in them were manifold and ancient beyond words. In a way the mountain kept the dwarves it was not the dwarves keeping the mountain.

Still he was used to the outdoors and the stars of the night sky. It would take time to feel at home here. It had been a day since they had entered the mountain city and he could not stop thinking about his family. They were dead. He knew it in his heart for certain. His mother before his eyes and his father far from his sight.

He had heard whisperings from the dwarves in the common tongue. A great evil had risen in the east and had swept away the Men of middle earth in a rising tide of slaughter and destruction. Only the Elves yet resisted in the far north defending what little they could. They had barred the gates and sealed the entrances. None could enter the city of the dwarves now.

The thought brought fury and sadness of equal measure in his heart. As much as he was grateful to the dwarves he could not help but question why they sat in their mountain watching the world fall around them. Yet he could not blame them either, his people were dying and did not have an impregnable fortress like this to retreat to. He could imagine that if they could his people would likely hide as well.

That such evil was allowed to exist was strange to him. Did the Valar not care? Why was this allowed to continue? Were they not meant to protect the races of middle earth? He resolved to find the answer.

By the end of the first day they had reached the first travel point of the western fringes. They boarded a 'grapple barge' as Tulvar called it, a form of easy travel in the city. They were rather bulky in size and ran along a series of thick tethered cables that stretched out across the chasms with impunity. The carriage was approximately ten feet wide with room for twelve to be seated. With several carriages they could move considerable supplies or people across the city quickly.

The ride was surprisingly smooth allowing Calaeron to sleep for the first time since the sudden flight from home. His dreams were dark and full of shadows, the image of his mother being mauled thrashed in the forefront of his mind. Thankfully one of the dwarves had woken him from the night terrors when they came.

When they reached the heart of the city Calaeron was still feeling exhausted. The stress and grief of the last few days had not faded and he doubted it would even after years had gone by.

"Your mother's body will be transported to the centre, there you can decided on what burial you desire her to have…" The red haired dwarf was more solemn now that he was free from the tumult of battle. What did he wish to do with her body? Did it even matter now? Her spirit had already fled to the Halls of Mandos, the body was only a remnant of her true self and would soon disappear turning to naught but dust…

"I wish to see her…body." Tulvar glanced at the boy out of the corner of his eye, "It will be gone soon…I want to collect what little will remain…"

The dwarf proceeded to mutter rudely about 'elves' and their strangeness. Calaeron could not bring himself to feel offended while his thoughts were so black.

"When you go before King Durin remember he can easily send you back princeling or no." Tulvar watched as the boy barely responded to the warning, "I have heard word from the court that Master Narvi will speak in your favour, you are lucky indeed to have such a patron of the arts on your side. He is a master craftsman without equal in these halls!"

"Then I am grateful that he would speak on my behalf." Calaeron stared dully for a few moments before frowning. He wondered who would take him in, would he be free to wander for decades without connection? A mere shade haunting these glistening halls? Perhaps like his father before him he could learn the crafts? After all this was a city of dwarves who were arguably unmatched in middle earth now that Ost-in-Edhil had been destroyed…

* * *

When they disembarked Calaeron could not help but stare in awe of his surroundings. The centre of the city was sheathed in fine marble so smooth it had a mirror like quality. The cavernous ceilings were encrusted with artistic designed with leaf gold and jewels which like the natural caves glistened like the night sky. The surrounding buildings carved from the rock looked strong enough to last until then end of time. This was Tulvar explained was Nud-melek, the eastern most section of the city and also the oldest. It was here that the majority of dwarven nobility stayed overseeing the day to day running of the vast metropolis.

Around him he could see thousands of dwarves going about their business. Some were workers, and others wore fine livery, he even wondered if he spotted the elusive dwarf female, the dress certainly seemed to suggest this! The central plaza Calaeron and Tulvar were walking through seemed to be a meeting place of sorts where he could see the oldest dwarves playing games and discussing things in their native tongue.

Having seen the truth before his eyes Calaeron could only come to the conclusion that this had to be the largest city in middle earth. From his studies he knew that the elven kingdom of Lindon was powerful and consisted of the majority of the elven race. But being here seeing the wealth and grandeur of the dwarves first hand he could not help but question which was the most powerful race of middle earth.

The dwarves had not truly faced the wars of Beleriand, both Nogrod and Belegost were destroyed but their people for the most part survived the experience. Many elves did not. Truly much of the elven race had been destroyed during those wars meaning those that remained in middle earth were mostly Avari or the remaining exiles of the Noldor. Calaeron feared that if the Enemy had truly arisen again, Morgoth or some other antagonist, then he doubted his people's ability to win against them alone.

"Come along princeling, the King awaits." Tulvar as always was pushing forward briskly.

The throne room of King Durin the third was grand indeed. Above Calaeron could see ornate smokeless lamps hanging at even intervals. The floor glistened with what seemed to be gemstones, but how such an absurd use of wealth could be possible he could not even begin to answer. Vast columns, two in a row, dominated the long hall punctuating the sheer depth and size. At the very end was a tall throne inlaid with gems and with what looked like white gold. Above was a massive statue, of whom Calaeron could only assume was Durin, the original one that is.

Sitting on the throne was a very old dwarf with an ornately woven white beard. His dark intelligent eyes glinting astutely behind fierce eyebrows. Arrayed around him were what seemed to be nobles, there were three groups which seemed to be divided. One group seemed to nearly all red headed with large fiery beards with darker skin much like Tulvar's. The next seemed to have shorter brown beards with a much paler complexion. The last seemed to be a mix of both and showed an element of dominance over the other two groups. Clans perhaps?

"I see Lord Tulvar returns…is it a surprise to anyone here that he failed to do anything other than bring back this single elven boy when he was given an entire army?" The voice came not from the King but from a much younger dwarf sitting brazenly not a few steps from the white gold throne. He was surprisingly blond haired and stood out starkly amongst his fellows. Tulvar stopped and bowed, Calaeron followed suit.

"Thor Enough …you are not King yet!" The old dwarf scowled down at his insubordinate son, "Tulvar I was disappointed to hear you had failed in your expedition…please report on your actions…"

"Of course my King!" Calaeron could nearly hear the capital letter, he watched as the son Thor narrowed his eyes, "The truth is simple. We arrived late. The city had already fallen when we managed to sortie to aid them. This attack has caught the elves off guard as well. They have all begun to flee for Lindon."

"And the enemy?"

"No one knows yet. The few elves we encountered before this lad here didn't know anything either. But we know it must be a powerful enemy to summon at the very least thirty thousand orcs with more likely on the way…" There were several grunts and sighs from the surrounding nobles. The numbers were startling to say the least, Calaeron had seen their numbers but he couldn't quite grasp the size of the numbers. To him it had been an uncountable mass.

"I see…" The dwarf king sat back his dark eyes lingering on the ring on his right hand. He pulled the thing off to look closely at it. He glanced from the ring to Calaeron, "Boy…give me your full name…"

"I-I am Calaeron, son of Celebrimbor of House Finwë." He could not help but wince. His voice sounded so very small in this grand hall.

"Well Calaeron…your father gave me this Ring…a token of our friendship he said. It would be unjust of me to deny you the hospitality of the dwarves. However I cannot force my people to care for you…" The King made a side along glance to a particular dwarf off to the right with a gesture to come forward.

"Master Narvi here has agreed to foster you until you come of age…" The dwarf that stepped forward was broad with a dark grey beard with ferocious eyebrows, his eyes were light grey in colour and seemed to carry an aura of laughter.

"Thank you my King, come along young Calaeron it is time to leave." The dwarf chaperoned him through the hall and out onto the outside plaza. One backward glance showed the King frowning at Tulvar as discussions turned to dire subjects.

"You come on the back of a grave storm child. I grieve for your mother and father they were both good friends to me." His hand squeezed Calaeron's shoulder, "Know that I will raise you as best as I know how. Now I understand you wished to visit your mother?"

Calaeron could only smile with tears in his eyes. He had suppressed his feelings of late, Tulvar was not exactly the most sympathetic dwarf. Grasping his hand forward he captured the older dwarf's hand within his own. Narvi smiled at the act.

"Yes."

"Well then follow along, there is but one place she will reside."

Master Narvi led him by the hand through a series of corridors and halls. It wasn't long before they entered a very long maze like structure that was covered with inset coves. Across the plaques he could see dwarven names inscribed in their language. A mausoleum?

"Now Calaeron, this is the tomb of my ancestors. All Dwarves back to the first age that have lived in these halls have been laid to rest here. It is a great honour for anyone not of dwarf kind to lay eyes upon it…" It was immaculate. The smooth black marble coupled with ornate engravings made it a labour of love. Truly the dwarves knew how to care for their dead.

Elves…were not so caring. The spirits of elves always fled to the halls of Mandos, called by the Valar or so the story was. Only those of great houses or that had great deeds assigned to their name were afforded anything remotely similar. To the elves what remained was merely a shell of that which remained behind, a remnant only worthy of grief. It was something that elves tended to shun. Calaeron could understand why. It was painful beyond thought.

They emerged into what he could only assume was a mortuary. There were several dwarves managing the various casks. A quick nod from Narvi and a long slim wooden cask was pulled from the wall. A moment passed as it was opened and ashen face of his mother was revealed. A hand covered Calaeron's shoulder as he felt tears enter his eyes.

His eyes trailed over her. Her mauled arm had been reattached but the vicious marks of teeth gouging into her dress remained. The blood was still thick upon her form. He was thankful in a way, he did not wish the dwarves to see his mother's form.

"Can I have a moment alone?" A few nods silently echoed around the room before Calaeron was left to his thoughts.

"Nana…I miss you…" He touched he cheek as he felt for anything that remained. Her once bright silver hair was lank and diminished. Little of her remained, her spirit had fled he knew it with certainty. He hoped she was happy. Somehow in that moment he knew he would never again meet her even by the reckoning of immortals. Tears slipped out again as he opened a small pouch.

"Begrudge me not Nana…I wish one small thing to remember you by…" Breathing out he caressed his small hand above her body. As if the world conspired to help him her body slowly turned to dust. The mauled dress slowly crumpled to rest in a thin mound of dust. A natural process for the Eldar. Their bodies were not long lived after they were gone, as if their bodies finally felt their true age after life had left them.

Gathering the dust he secreted the small pouch in his tunic. One way or another he would always carry it.

Venturing out into the main hall he put on a strong face. Sighting Narvi he went back to the dwarf's side.

"You are finished then? I am truly sorry young Calaeron it isn't fair that you should face this when so young." The dwarf looked truly pained at the thought. The boy couldn't help but feel touched by the concern. It wasn't often that dwarves felt badly for the elves.

As they began the long walk back to the transport barge Calaeron could not help but wonder what to call his new guardian. He did not want to be too personal, yet he felt drawn to this dwarf all the same.

"Master Narvi…what should I call you?" Narvi watched as the boy's dark red hair swayed slightly as he turned his gaze toward him, dark eyes stared up at him with an innocent sparkle. Even after all he had seen innocence still clung to this boy.

"Well certainly not 'master' Narvi!" Calaeron watched as the dwarf hummed as he thought deeply, "Call me Uncle, young Calaeron! It is only right as my friendship with your father was strong indeed."

"As you wish…Uncle Narvi." Calaeron could not help the smile that gleamed across his face. His heart still ached from the loss of all he knew but he could always make new connections with those around him. Grief would pass and he knew his family still existed even if they were parted.

"Come now Calaeron I will show you my home such as it is!" The boy smiled as he followed along at a quick trot, his small hand engulfed by his new guardian's paw-like hand.

Down into the depths of Khazad-dûm they travelled. By Durin's way they passed to where the master of mithril had made his home…

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Yep You guessed it Benevolent Scriber has struck again. Yet another story this time with an entirely different genre and premise. (Yeah I know I'm flighty I'm sorry _) Now I know Middle Earth has some fierce canon which I am intimately familiar with. I will be seeking opinions through this. So please let me know if you have any ideas sparked by this!

As for Khazad-dûm I've never really seen a story go into detail as to what it was like _before_ it got trashed by angry fiery and ugly down below. Hope you liked it!

Also for future plans please discuss what you think about Maedhros and his abdication of rights to the royal house of Noldor? What do you think Celebrimbor's status actually was?

 ** _Please read and review._**


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I do not Own Middle Earth or any of its components!**

 ** _Chapter Two_**

 **Second Age. 1702 – Khazad-dûm**

The clanging of hammers against hot metal sounded rhythmically in the deep. The blast of heat from the furnace brought a welcome glow to Calaeron as he watched with intense focus as Uncle Narvi molded and warped the mithril like soft gold. At this level of temperature the material was intensely dangerous, one slip and it could boil the flesh from your bones instantly.

"Open the vents boy!" Nodding Calaeron threw his entire weight behind the heavy lever keeping the forge properly supplied with air. He watched as the material changed consistency again. Narvi prodded it slightly before nodding with satisfaction.

"Watch closely as the temperature changes! Mithril holds many secrets…it is not just some mere metal!" Taking an octagonal mould Narvi scraped a blob of the material into the hollow. "Now watch closely for mithril is also like a gem! If you treat it right you can produce a piece harder than any diamond." Slowly the material was doused in black liquid before being pushed back into the furnace. "Give it a few moments…and!" He pulled it out quickly took his hammer into an overhead swing. With thunderous force he shattered the black material tapped out the small octagonal ingot.

Or at least it looked like an ingot of mithril. "I know what you're thinking Calaeron. 'Uncle Narvi has lost his mind!' Heh. Here take it!" Calaeron jerked in fear as the seemingly hot ingot hit his palm. Unbelievably it was cold to the touch. Its smooth surface felt similar to water. That sensation was definitely not that of metal more like a finely smoothed peril. Looking up he gazed in wonder at his uncle.

"Believe me now? Mithril is a gift from Mahal to the world. It is not just some metal to be shaped and looked upon with awe, it is a substance that can change even its own nature if you know how!"

"It almost feels like a gem stone…but much smoother!" Calaeron couldn't help but stoke the material in his hand.

"Indeed. I learned this not long after I became a smith…one of my early mistakes you could say. Sadly my people do not see its value." He looked rather down hearted at that. "True it does not shine and it is not clear like a diamond. Still, I do like its texture!"

"I like it too Uncle!" Calaeron clutched the ingot in wonder as the cold feeling grew strange indeed. It was like feeling the exposed veins of the world in the deepest halls. Warm yet not warm. There was something more to it than was readily apparent.

It was something the dwarves either took for granted or could not sense. The earth itself lived in a very real way. Yet instead of blood and bone it had mithril and bedrock. The metal was more special than even Narvi knew. It was the life blood of the land, running deep into Arda. Laying only a finger on an exposed vein Calaeron could feel the fierce fires deep beneath the world and the vast movements of energy therein.

Through it he could feel his own spirit grow and wax even with a simple touch, feeding off the power that lay there. Truly it was a euphoric sensation. It was also something that he secretly enjoyed when he trained in the mines searching for prime deposits. The sensation was such that if he lingered for too long he wondered if his body might burst into flames if he was not careful. He wondered if the elves knew of this piece of lore, if so he wondered why more elves did not partake of the deep places of the world.

A chortled laugh and a quick pat on the head was Narvi's answer.

Calaeron smiled. He had been working with Narvi ever since he arrived. At nearly twenty eight he had gotten much bigger and stronger than when he arrived. No longer was he small like an eight year old he was closer to looking thirteen if he had been a mortal man. His red hair was pinned back in a long woven ponytail revealing a startlingly fair countenance that would likely stop the heart of even the coldest of maidens. He wore a rough smock with breaches with a large leather apron belted on. It wasn't particularly comfortable as it chaffed against his admittedly sensitive skin. He knew now why his people had always dressed in such finely made silken clothes.

He had not just grown physically though. About a year after he had arrived he had been given special permission to learn the dwarven language Khuzdul, a great honour for any outsider, under oath to never teach another living soul. Calaeron had agreed and given his oath to silence.

Learning it had been different to the tones of Sindar or Quenya. It had far more hard edges and was more similar to the common speech than elvish. But once he had mastered it he had dived into library that Narvi kept. Everything from metallurgy to historical manuscripts, he was still wheezing from the dust. The dwarves were a secretive people but to Calaeron they had given surprising leeway to investigate. The friendship of the dwarves bought much it seemed.

His skills as a smith had truly grown. He was far from even being a match for any of the journeymen but he did have the advantage of having the greatest master smith in Khazad-dûm as a mentor. Something other dwarf novices let him know often with their undisguised jealousy.

Calaeron had never truly thought about becoming a smith. That had always been his father's occupation, an occupation that had taken him away from his family for months at a time. However the moment he had begun a few small works, nails, the odd goat shoe and a few artistic pursuits, he had felt a great deal of accomplishment within, as if a boundless need had finally been answered. He had also taken to drawing and painting as a hobby. It brought him simple pleasure to try and paint the fierce tones of the grand mithril forge.

As for news of the outside world? Only a few days before they had received word, and due to the closed nature of the city news had a way of taking longer than normal to reach them.

The war of Elves and Sauron was over. The Númenóreans had crushed Sauron and his armies into dust sending the monster scurrying back to the dark hole that was Mordor. It had been eight years since the day of the wars beginning. The elves had suffered greatly during that time and had barely managed to hold Lindon and Imladris.

To Calaeron it brought to mind shadows of the wars of Beleriand and its ultimate conclusion. Like before the elves were saved, only this time by mortal men. Once again the elven populations had been culled. Either his people were too few to fight or they lacked any real will to muster their strength. What was clear as well was that the population had suffered just as badly from elves fleeing over the sea to Valinor as it had from the conflict with Sauron.

This was gleaned from the many merchants that had travelled to Khazad-dûm be they man or elf. Overall it seemed that things had greatly quietened in the world. Morder had grown quiet in the aftermath and with it Sauron. Sadly he had only been defeated not destroyed and was surely building his armies once more.

Númenór it seemed was the power of this era. The Edain had grown in numbers and had become strong in body. Even now their new empire grew on the coasts of middle earth. To Calaeron it was truly hard to comprehend how quickly men thrived and fell. Cities growing within years and being thrown down just as quickly.

While it showcased their short lives it also showed their strength. Whereas an elf would linger and take years to build their works the Edain were quick and decisive. Mortality was truly a boon, what purpose did immortality have other than to show the elves how far they had fallen since the elder days?

It was a heavy concept. Immortality, true immortality, their bodies were simply shells to house their immortal spirits that were forever trapped, bound, to Arda. The idea that at some point he would see the true ending of the world whether he lived or died was a sobering thought. It made him question the purpose of the elves in this world.

The Elves of Aman seemingly lived their lives and enjoyed themselves in complete bliss forever. The Valar protecting them as valued companions for all time. To Calaeron that sounded like being kept as a pet. What was the worth in living an easy life? Peace was only one part of life, conflict brought change and change was something to be valued.

If he went into the west he would likely spend all his time making things…yet he knew he would grow bored. How could his people not yearn for change, for new things! The idea of staying in one place without trials, without difficulty for all eternity, was something horrible and worthless to Calaeron in his young age.

He thought of his own arrival in Khazad-dûm. His mother had died and the city he had grown up in was burned to the ground. This was undeniably terrible but it had led him to the Dwarves, Narvi and new experiences. These experiences were valuable in themselves even if the events leading to them were horrible.

Were elves just so scared of change that they could not face reality? That elves could fear anything puzzled him. If you were a true immortal didn't it render most of the concerns of mortals nil and void? Fear of death, fear of pain and suffering, all of these things would pass away eventually. What was even one year spent in a dungeon under torture compared to the life age of Arda? Calaeron wondered about how the wise of his people perceived such things. Did they fear like mortals? One day he would ask them.

"Well that's it for now!" Narvi grinned as he pawed Calaeron on the head, "Now off with you, I'll finished up here. Don't be messing about too much now with that troublesome hooligan!"

"I won't! Thanks Uncle!" Calaeron couldn't help but grin at the idea of 'messing about'. Most of the apprentices hated him but that didn't mean he couldn't make friends with the other dwarves in the city. They weren't _all_ smiths.

Dashing up the short stairs, taking three at a time, he could feel his elven blood sing. Speed was something he truly loved. While the wind was absent and the walls were close he could sense the earth around him subtly move in joy along with him. Nearing a residential area he travelled the familiar path home. It was a sombre affair with little decoration built into a rock cavern, finely carved it had the distinct aristocratic air, yet Narvi and himself rarely stayed at here other than to sleep. Entering his own chambers he picked up a small short sword of fine make. It paid to be careful where he was going even if it was technically still within the city boundaries.

Hopefully he would not be too late to meet with his friend. Though he was an elf most dwarves were more curious than taken with old prejudices. The recent friendship with Eregion had done much to dispel those old ideas anyway.

It was not long before he reached the lower halls where most of the regular traffic on the upper levels had petered out. This particular area of the city wasn't often travelled to. The endless stair was a place few bothered to travel to. The peak and the far depths of the mountain offered little to most dwarves. For Calaeron it offered the sky and adventure.

Passing through the huge engraved gateway he beheld the enormous staircase that coiled around the spine of the mountain. The sheer size of it was such that twenty men abreast could march upon the stair with ease.

Turning the corner he beheld a dwarf leaning sullenly against the wall. He was blond haired with a neatly trimmed beard not yet up to the standards lengths expected of an adult dwarf. The dwarf was well dressed in finely made clothes that indicating his status as a noble. Upon his hip he carried a finely made hammer of ornate design.

This was Prince Thor, a somewhat troubled dwarf. He was young by the reckoning of his people at a mere forty years of age. At first Calaeron had not known what to say when Thor had approached him with an offer of friendship. The dwarf had appeared rather bratty and disrespectful that day in court. Calaeron had taken the offer out of plain old curiosity. Turns out that Tulvar was a rather conservative dwarf that was not terribly invested in the survival of the alliance between elves and dwarves. In the words of Thor the man had lingered and waited for the collapse of Eregion before sending out his troops in an all too late sortie. At least that was what Thor believed.

His father, Durin, had also begun to act strange these past years. The isolationist agenda of the king had only grown of late. Locking his people away from the world. Thor chaffed under the mountain. He wished to visit the world and gain renown as a great warrior. Yet here he was languishing in untold wealth and ease.

"You're late again." The chiselled expression of his friend was dull as he stared with flat eyes, "Have you ever been on time in your life?" Calaeron could only grin at the expression. Thor could be so stroppy sometimes.

"I'll have you know that my uncle was showing me a very interesting trick with Mithril! Definitely worth waiting for…" The dwarf rolled his blue eyes before turning to begin descending down the stairs.

"Is it just you or are all elves prone to keep people waiting?" The dwarf paused a moment and before a widely grinning Calaeron could answer he held up a gauntleted finger, "It was a rhetorical question."

"I myself must wonder if all dwarves are as grumpy as you…" The blistering grin on Calaeron's face did not let up. A deep long suffering sigh was the response he garnered.

"So you wish to pick up where we left off? It's pretty dark down there if you remember…and…well. Strange." They had been exploring the deeps for the last few weeks. The endless stair could carry them right down to the roots of the mountain. A place that was generally avoided due to the scary stories the old miners would tell of strange beings that moved about the natural rocks. Yet it was the only exciting place in the city if you wanted to feel a thrill.

"Yes. I've got my torches ready in my satchel." The dwarf patted the heavy leather bag that was held onto his belt, "I wonder if there is anything down there truly. The old stories talk about strange creatures but we had yet to see anything strange at all…unless you count demented elves…"

"That was one time! There was something down there I swear it! My sight does not lie." Again the dwarf sighed as he massaged his brow. Calaeron had pulled Thor back as soon as he saw whatever _it_ was. He could still remember the oppressive feeling he experienced. As if he was an insignificant speck to be crushed beneath a much more vast presence. Thankfully when they left it had slowly receded from his awareness.

It was strange for Calaeron to go deeper down into the earth. In some ways his senses became much more acute. The thrumming sense of power within Arda would become much clearer. Almost like a heartbeat. In many ways he savoured that feeling, the world felt more real in the deep, the wellspring of power was free to be drank from. The surface world held an almost dream-like quality by comparison, that thrumming power he could feel was almost completely severed from the surface so much so it felt wrong. Like the world was damaged in some terrible way.

Still it was the only place in the city one could feel like they were exploring a new and exciting place.

"Well in the future don't babble like a fool in my ear!" Calaeron winced, he had been a bit skittish that day, and in his defence whatever he had sensed was bad beyond words. "Now then onwards into the deep, I want to see that lake again."

On their last expedition into the deep they had managed to reach a new cavern which was flooded as far as the eye could see. Calaeron was curious if anything lived within its depths…yet was also equally terrified as to what form it would take.

It took nearly two hours to reach the bottom by which point Thor had taken out his torch as the smokeless lamps had ceased to be a fixture nearly an hour ago. The Endless Stair was not well used and was generally only used by the few dwarf astronomers which travelled to the peak of Celebdil, descending into the deeps was something only prospectors did.

Taking a seat at the bottom with Thor Calaeron reflected on their surroundings as they rested. The stair ended with an enormous gatehouse which had long since fallen into disuse. Why such a great work had been undertaken was puzzling to Calaeron as the deeps did not have as many plentiful mithril deposits as redhorn lodes to the north.

"It's strange that such a stair exists at all. Did you ever find out why it exists?" He looked to Thor who looked rather defeated by the question.

"Sadly no. Even with royal authority the records simply do not exist. Of course that must be impossible considering that this level of construction would have taken decades if not _centuries_ to complete. The only other idea I had was that they were removed on purpose…" That was concerning, if the records were removed then someone had something to hide. Then again Thor was a suspicious dwarf by nature, he would always see shadows where there might be none. Still it was odd that such a large construction had no records at all.

Stepping up from his seat Thor motioned onwards, "Let us go, we can think it over near the lake…" Calaeron watched as his friend moved off at a brisk pace. Sighing to himself he took several long strides to match pace.

"Are you going to name it?" He smiled as he glanced at the dwarf. They had discovered it together but this was Thor's homeland not Calaeron's.

"Name what?" His thick eyebrows bunched up in confusion as he tightened his grip on the torch.

"The Lake." An understanding light was lit within his friends eyes.

"Ahh…I don't suppose we can keep calling it "The Lake" now can we…" His friend grumbled into his beard as he considered the problem. Calaeron could only smile as he stared out into the darkness, his elven eyes pealing back the blackness to show the cavern in stark detail.

The cave walls were dark and did not glitter with the bounty of the earth, only dark stones and faceless broken stonework littered this first cave. It looked like the dwarves may have had an outpost at some point down here. That there was no riches in this area which meant that it had either been long since been depleted or there had been none to begin with.

In many ways it would not have been possible for Thor to navigate these tunnels without Calaeron. His eyesight allowed him to see all the entrances and exits with ease, and with caverns of this size a small torch's light was swallowed up quickly.

An hour of trudging through razor sharp rocks they finally emerged into an enormous expanse. A cavern that appeared to be endless to mortal eyes. Calaeron mused looking out at the 'lake', it was more of an underground sea than it was a lake.

Below the water ghostly light could be seen illuminating the cavern from below. Just what that light was Calaeron could not discern even with his eyes. Still it bathed the entire cave in and enchanting light.

Thor stepped forward with a purposeful look upon his face.

"I name this place…Zinlazanan-zâram!" Starlight Lake. A true sentiment. It truly did look like starlight captured within its dark depths.

"A good name…I just wish we could figure out what those lights are…" Calaeron stared stressing his eyes. His sight was truly impressive, he did not know if all elves were this capable but from the peak of Celebdil he could see all of main land middle earth with breathtaking detail. That the waters would not allow his sight to penetrate its depths was concerning.

"No one has ever studied these lights, we are likely some of the few to have ever laid eyes upon it, perhaps the first ever…" Thor crouched next to the water, taking some in his hand, he stared in slight wonder at its utter purity. Drinking some he frowned going back for some more, "Truly the water here is purist nectar!"

Calaeron took some himself and held the water between his palms. Focusing intently he tried to feel anything from the water. This water had never been touched by mortal or immortal hands that much was true. It was…cloudy was the best description even if it was clear as finest glass. It was woven with the same power that flowed through the mithril veins. Taking a drink he felt the same surge of his own spirit except this time it was like a firestorm was ignited within. He coughed slightly at the sensation his skin growing unnaturally warm.

His hand sought out Thor's wrist seizing it before he could take another drink, "…Do not drink too much my friend…this water is _not_ for mortals or for anyone." Staring out at the water he watched as the lights began moving, slithering through the water. Even Thor noticed as he pulled his hammer free.

"Forget your weapon it won't do any good against whatever that is. Be ready to run." Calaeron stared intently as the light rose closer to the surface.

What emerged was strange. It appeared to be a huge snake of some kind, at least thirty feet long, and its body was completely transparent. Lining its body were luminescent scales and tubes. Its head was long and distended. No teeth of any kind could be seen upon the creature as it opened its fangless maw. It coasted languidly through the water. One thing that became apparent to Calaeron was its lack of eyes. Both elf and dwarf held silently as they watched the behemoth sail by.

"Slowly move back from the shore…" Calaeron whispered slowly to his friend. The dwarf could only nod vigorously as the slowly back stepped. Calaeron watched as the creature slowly re-submerged. Releasing a sigh of relief he stared at Thor with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmph, how was I supposed to know it was infested with critters?" He grumped sitting back down on a nearby rock crossing his arms defensively.

"Nobody will believe us you know…"

"Giant glowing snakes living beneath our feet…had I not seen it first-hand I would laugh as well."

That creature had felt ridiculously powerful but not in any definable way. It felt like it had absorbed so much of that same power that it had lost something in the process. Was it even alive in a way that could be comprehended? Strange beyond words. This was definitely going into the journal that chronicled their adventures.

"Still a wondrous sight even with the giant scary monsters…"

"Do you think the ancient dwarves knew of this place? That Durin knew of it?" Calaeron asked Thor mostly because the prince had learned a great deal more dwarven history than himself.

"It is possible I suppose…do you think this water could help you live longer as a mortal?" A strange question. Calaeron could imagine that to a mortal this water would act much like an elixir of life. For him all it did was make his spirit burn brightly.

"I suppose, but I would not use it to any great quantity…I fear what the lasting effects would be on anyone's mind." Calaeron hoped Thor wasn't thinking about using it himself. Already those small drinks had likely had a great effect on Thor.

"Then it's quite possible Durin himself had the stair made for only his own use. Durin lived to be nearly two thousand years old. Most just assumed that because he was the first original dwarf he was given a special body by Mahal. If this is true then he was probably drinking from this place instead…"

For a dwarf over two thousand years was an absurdly long time. Even Elves would be counted as being fully mature by then as well. Not even the Valar could grant life to a mortal creation for that long without twisting it as Morgoth did many of his creations.

"But why hide it? Was he so jealous of others that he hid this?" Calaeron did not like that question. True the water was potent and would likely increase anyone's life span yet that did not mean anyone should do so. True death was not something to be fearful of, any elf knew this, in fact many of his kind probably rejoice at the chance.

"I do not think it matters Thor. We should leave this place and never return. Nothing good can be found in this…" Thor grumbled as he stared out across the life giving waters and turned his back on them his hand tightly clenching his hammer.

"Who needs it anyway? Dwarves aren't meant to live forever! I'd rather live a glorious life than that of a fool clinging to a life not worth living!" With angry stomps Thor marched away. Following behind him Calaeron regarded his friend with a quiet smile. He could not deny his friend's charisma, clearly the noble lineage of Durin held more than simple praise.

With one last glance behind at the life giving waters of the newly dubbed Zinlazanan-Zâram Calaeron wondered if this was close to what elves felt like when basking within the light of the two trees of Valinor. Truthfully the difference was very clear. From the studies he could remember of the ancient tales the two trees were sacred creations, by comparison this lake while naturally beautiful was not blessed by any hallowed power. Perhaps it could grant life yes but not a blessed life.

It was likely a place that men and dwarves alike would visit in their thousands even on the promise of a slightly increased life span.

From the elven perspective it was a truly bizarre desire.

* * *

Having returned home Calaeron spent the next two hours writing down the details he could remember. This chronicle had been started out of a childish desire to match the great manuscripts of past heroes. Years later it had transformed into a much more serious pursuit.

Both he and Thor had been to many places. From the peak of Celebdil to its very roots they had adventured. Yet for all that they felt stifled. As much as Calaeron loved learning the crafts and Thor enjoyed the company of his people, they both desired to venture out and visit the world. This journal was much like a promise of that wanderlust fulfilling future.

"Glowing snakes you say! So the old miner's tall tales are true…or at least they could be. Still I find the idea of rock eating monsters to be rather fantastic…" Calaeron frowned at Narvi as he tapped his pencil on the latest page. He wasn't so sure about that, some of those caves had enormous scarring, and if one looked closely those scars resembled marks left by enormous jaws. The thought had brought nightmares to mind of enormous creatures swallowing the city whole.

"I would not be so sure Uncle. From what saw I do not believe all of those caves in the deeps are natural…the passages between voids certainly unnatural." Narvi frowned as he sat down at the table, before him he placed down a small mug of malt beer.

"If such creatures exist why have they not ventured up towards the surface?" It was a good question. Perhaps it had something to do with the proximity to the power within Arda? Certainly the further they ventured down the close they got to that imperishable source. Perhaps those creatures fed upon it such that the cold surface might appear worthless to such beings. It was a logical assumption but one he could likely never prove.

"Heat maybe…the stone gets much warmer the further down you go. Maybe they like the warmth more than the cold stones above." Narvi's grey beard twitched in surprise before a small smirk twisted his mouth.

"Indeed? It sounds plausible. That something so simple would save us from such creatures makes us truly fortunate." Calaeron could only agree, fighting such creatures would be utterly impossible for any warrior regardless of strength or numbers especially in such cramped quarters.

Narvi took a long drink from his mug before settling before the fire in his large cushioned chair. Often times he would fall asleep down in the living room instead of retiring. He was an old dwarf now, pushing at two hundred. Calaeron liked to think he appreciated the company as the dwarf had no remaining family of his own.

Calaeron knew Narvi would not be around for much longer. It was a thought he struggled to consider, he loathed it yet accepted it at the same time. In light of that he had resolved to cherish what time he had with the dwarf as much as he could. He would learn all that he could from him and carry the legacy of Narvi the Artificer across all the ages of Middle Earth.

 **Authors Note:**

 **Not the best response but I kind of expected that. Most Lotr fanfictions are about the war of the ring. Personally I find it to be a relatively boring period of time. For this story I plan to have original plots. I want to go to Númenor and see their great empire first hand and travel to distant lands in middle earth on a grand quest.**

 **Of course Thor takes ques from the Marvel Thor and of course the mythical version as well. I also have a plan that involves the Silmarils which will be quite cool. Don't worry nobody will actually** ** _get_** **one.**

 **Updates will be pretty slow as I'm going through a muse death phase. So many ideas but so little time.**


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